


Something's Cooking

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4609767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for a prompt on tumblr. In the cooking blogger whose detailed tutorials have taught her how not to ruin simple dishes, Momoi finds someone who might be more than just a teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something's Cooking

**From:** momois8900@yahoo.co.jp  
**To:** ryou@yourselfcook.co.jp  
**Date:** 9 October 2015  
**Subj:** Thank You

Sakurai-san:

At first I wanted to leave a comment on one of your recipes or your tutorial pages, but then I realized that what I had to say wouldn’t fit in the comment box and I have a lot to say about many of your recipes and tutorials, so I hope you don’t mind me sending you this email.

I first found your cooking blog when I moved out of my parents’ house; at the time I was a pretty hopeless cook. I couldn’t even make honey-lemons for the person I liked (he wouldn’t accept them) and any time there was a stove or oven involved I’d burn everything to a crisp. My mother always told me I’d never amount to anything if I couldn’t make at least one proper meal, and when I moved out I realized she had a point. Between myself and my roommate we could only make rice and steamed vegetables (and he was the only one who could do those) and we couldn’t afford to even get takeout or fast food all the time even if we’d wanted to.

I looked up several cooking blogs and websites, but even the ones that were “for beginners” were way too hard and assumed that the reader had some level of experience preparing meals. I didn’t know if I was measuring things right, or how high the flame on the range was supposed to be for a simmer, or anything like that. But then I saw your blog, and though the recipes on the front page seemed a little bit daunting I clicked on the “tutorials” section, and…wow. Your diagrams are all super-clear (and the little characters on the side are adorable!) and after following your advice and purchasing the right kind of basic kitchen tools, I followed your tutorial for making rice. And even though it didn’t work perfectly, there was still a section of rice in the middle of the pot that was edible, which was by far the best I’d ever done. And I read the comments and I saw the way you thoroughly answered people’s questions, including ones similar enough to my own that I felt I could try again with this new knowledge. And I did, and there was actually enough this time for both me and my roommate to eat, and…I know this is going into (perhaps needless) detail, but I really want to let you know how much your blog has helped me. All the details, all the little tips, all the tutorials—they’ve all gotten me a little bit closer to being able to cook for myself and others.

That said, there’s a big difference between edible food and good food and I still haven’t managed to overcome that hurdle. And I think it would greatly expedite the process if I had some live feedback—I’m pretty clueless about what exactly isn’t going right with my food, and I wouldn’t know how to describe it to anyone else and I wouldn’t want to just start adding and subtracting things in case it becomes inedible again. My roommate’s not much help, either; the only feedback he ever gives is totally unrelated to how to fix it (because he doesn’t know either). And I’ve argued so much with my parents and grandmother about cooking that by this point we’ve pretty much agreed not to set foot in the same kitchen ever again. And I was wondering if you knew anyone who could provide feedback? It could be a private cooking teacher or anyone who’s helped you; I’m willing to negotiate rates. Thank you so much for all of your help!

Sincerely,

Momoi Satsuki

* * *

 

It’s been a week since Sakurai himself had agreed to meet with her and talk about cooking, from his e-mails it sounded as if he’d taken on getting her the rest of the way to competent cooking as his job—and he’s already taken her this far. But Momoi supposes that men are prideful about these things, and from all the information she’d been able to find on this man (mostly on his instagram) he’s quite proud, especially when it comes to cooking.

She turns to sneeze, but then she squints—halfway down the block and walking toward her is the spitting image of Sakurai in the pictures she’d dredged up from the internet. He’s taller than she expected, although not even approaching her roommate’s 190-plus centimeters, but significantly taller than she is and certainly taller than average. He reaches her in a few seconds, hastily bowing.

“Er…Momoi-san?”

She nods. “Sakurai-san?”

He looks around. “Ah! I’m terribly sorry but…that is…I picked a terrible spot to meet; there’s nowhere to sit around here. Please forgive me.”

He actually looks contrite and a little nervous, totally different from how he comes off online (but then, so many people are that way). Momoi gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile—and he smiles back, just a little bit, and whoa. She’s not prepared for how cute it is, how the expression spreads so quickly to his cheeks and eyes and she nearly drops her bag.

“It’s all right,” she says. “There’s a park a few blocks away, so we can go there. Thank you for meeting me.”

They walk in a companionable silence; he seems content with letting her lead the way even if he’s still nervous, glancing at her every now and then out of the corner of his eye. She’s not sure what to say to him right now, whether to bring up her cupcakes right away or not. Fortunately, the way to the park is quite short and there are plenty of empty benches, so they sit down and she takes out her cupcake. Sakurai eyes it. She opens the bag; it really smells like nothing—which it isn’t supposed to. He seems to be waiting for her to give him some, so she breaks off a piece and hands it over. He pops it into his mouth, chews, and then nods.

“It’s, ah…a bit dry. And, er, bland. Sorry!”

She blinks. “No, you’re right…and I’m here so you can help me how to fix things.”

“I’m sorry!” he repeats. “I’m sorry for not giving such—”

She holds up her hand. “Please, Sakurai-san. What am I doing wrong?”

He looks at the rest of the cupcake in her hand, and then it’s as if he’s suddenly switched modes, like some other person has entered his body.

“What kind of oven are you using?”

“I, uh…”

Momoi’s usual attention to detail is apparently absent in her kitchen—she has no idea what make and year her oven is, and she’s not sure how she would even classify it in broader terms. Those just aren’t the details that are important to her, the things she files away carefully in her brain. She can recall the exact directions in most of Sakurai’s recipes, but this escapes her.

“It might be cooking them too hot. Even if you set it a certain way, it won’t necessarily cook them at that temperature, especially if it’s an older oven.”

She blinks. His shoulders sink a couple of centimeters.

“I mean,” he says, “I’m sorry if that’s too obvious…or if you’ve tried that…”

“No! I hadn’t thought of it at all,” she says. “I’m terribly sorry that I’m not really familiar with all of this basic stuff…”

“We’ll make it work,” he says, squaring his shoulders once again and fixing his eyes on hers. “I won’t fail you.”

His fingers reach out to touch her wrist; his skin is cool and a little bit rough to the touch—he does work with his hands all day, after all. And that intensity, that bit of fire in his eyes—with the way he puts it behind his words, like an oven hardening their shells, it makes her believe that anything is possible.


End file.
